White, No Sugar
by Lady Dudley
Summary: Sherlock's attempt to rationalise his new coffee preference since his 'death.' Based on Taylor Swift's 'Back To December.' Slight angst, implied Sherlock/Molly.


**A/N: I had fully intended that my next fanfic would be the _True Blood_ Season 5 AU I'm working on, but - once again - this _Sherlock_ idea wouldn't leave me alone. It's set when Sherlock's off on his one man mission after his 'death' and based around the idea of him missing Molly and Taylor Swift's 'Back To December.' It did turn out differently to what I have in mind, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Thank you for all the encouragement for my last _Sherlock_ fanfic attempt. I really appreciated it.****  
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**Disclaimer: I own nothing.  
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**_White, No Sugar_  
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~*~  
_You gave me all your love, and all I gave you was goodbye_  
_So this is me swallowing my pride_  
_Standing in front of you, saying I'm sorry for that night_  
_And I go back to December all the time_  
_It turns out freedom ain't nothing but missing you_  
_Wishing I'd realized what I had when you were mine_  
_I go back to December, turn around and change my own mind_  
_I go back to December all the time_  
_..._  
_Maybe this is wishful thinking_  
_Probably mindless dreaming_  
_But if we loved again, I swear I'd love you right_  
-'Back To December,' Taylor Swift  
~*~

The welcoming glow of the coffee shop beckoned invitingly to passers-by, all of whom either didn't notice or instinctively avoided the brooding figure in a secluded corner.

For his part, the man in the corner ignored them all completely as he took another sip of his drink.

_White coffee, no sugar._

It wasn't sentiment, it was merely another piece of his deception, another means to conceal his true identity.

The fact that whilst almost everything about his latest assumed identity changed, his new coffee order did not was completely irrelevant.

"_I don't count."_

Sherlock's frown deepened as the words skittered across his memory.

Despite everything that had happened since Molly had uttered those three words, Sherlock hadn't been able to shake them from his mind.

Because she _did_ count, more than she knew, more than even _he_ had suspected.

Moriarty's mistake had been in believing that she didn't count, thus providing Sherlock with the means to foil his attempt on his life. Sherlock's mistake had been in letting Molly think she didn't count.

Because that's what he'd done, he could see that now.

All the petty deductions, the insults, the dismissals and - most disastrously of all – that Christmas party, had convinced her that she didn't count; that at best she was just useful.

It was another reason that he regretted that night, hated the memory of it and had tried so desperately to delete it from his memory files. Only it had refused to budge, much like Molly herself.

That was a side effect of her counting that he hadn't expected.

Of course he had anticipated missing his old life: the comfortable routine, the thrill of the latest case and the people and places he was accustomed to.

What he hadn't counted on was being plagued with thoughts of his pathologist; being haunted by her memory.

He had never realised how easily she had infiltrated his life, how much he had come to rely on her smile, her little quirks that somehow always managed to be endearing rather than irritating and the simple fact she was always _there._

Needless to say it had come a quite a shock that hers should be the presence he missed most; that he'd never realised just how calming and reassuring he'd found her.

How much he craved that calm and reassurance now that it was gone.

Hence his new coffee order: white, no sugar.

Molly's preference.

It wasn't sentiment; it was a natural – a _rational_ – attempt to keep some of his former routine, some of his former methods of staying focused and grounded. A means to remind himself of the life he was fighting to regain.

That's what he'd told himself, time and again.

In his more honest moments, however, he had admitted that it was simply because it reminded him of Molly; reminded him that somewhere there were people who cared about him; people who believed in him.

And no one cared more that Molly Hooper.

The realisation of which was the only good thing to come from that horrible Christmas party.

He took another sip of his drink thoughtfully.

He might not be able to go back in time to right all the wrongs he had done before, during and after that night but maybe…just maybe, he could fix everything in the future.

In the meantime he would continue to stick with his new coffee order.

_White, no sugar._


End file.
